For those of you that missed the previous notice, I have expanded Chapter 8. Thus, if you don't know what's going on currently, I highly recommend giving it another looksie.

The Badlands were everything that Kowler expected from his overhead view, atop the gryphon Greenbeak. A harsh and dry land filled with mountain ranges and scarred canyons and various wildlife creatures: coyotes and buzzards and cheetahs and such, prowling around, looking for their next meals.

The excavation of Uldaman looked well under way when Kowler arrived. The mountain that it was built under had been hollowed to near totality, great burdens of stone and wood holding up a vast winding cavern made by mortal hands. A good handful of leather wearing archeologists painstakingly dusted over great pillars of green-rusted copper in the open recesses, the overhead sun baking them into a lulled puddle, whilst weapon toting soldiers prowled around, ready for whatever may come. They were all hard at work, and even in their exhausted states, they continued their dues. It was commendable.

Greenbeak descended with a gusto towards a south-eastern ridge of the excavation, crooning confusedly at an even larger gryphon, the matriarch that the foreman of this dig rode, laying still against a shadow touched hill; likely resting. They shared a unique coloring; their lion backsides were a burgundy red, whilst their feathers were a curious greenish-black, which likely told tale of how Greenbeak got its name. Kowler hopped away from his temporary mount and looked around.

It felt-… He didn't have the words. There was something in the air here. Kowler couldn't put his finger on it, but something was off. Archeologists and guardsmen alike had paused their work and were candidly staring at him with open interest, their gazes shifting between him and Greenbeak, unhealthily interested.

Whatever that something in the air was, Kowler was curious. It felt like a mystery. Intent on finding a story, Kowler shuffled towards the largest tent he could find, naturally expecting it to be owned by the most senior officer around.

"May I come in?" Kowler asked the flap, knocking on the metal stake holding the tent's center up, hoping that he was talking to an actual person and not just the tent. It smelled quite earthy, but there were new smells all over the camp, and so he could not pinpoint what exactly this specific smell was.

A few sounds escaped the inside: the muffling of a curse, the whispers of conversation, the billowing of sheets. "Er," a nervous woman's voice echoed. "Just a mo'!" Flustered movement sounded from the tent and, with an embarrassed sort of swagger, a thinly clothed human male waddled out from the tent, his eyes never leaving the ground enough for Kowler to get a good look at him. But his long blonde hair and bulky build were distinctive, and the gnoll knew that he'd see the human again soon enough.

"Come in!"

Kowler entered the tent, noting boldly the décor. It was not necessarily sparse, but neither was it over-the-top. Tasteful, he would say. A shag carpet lined over stone, and a double cot sat in the middle of the tent. A dwarven woman with short black hair, bright blue eyes, and a septum ring sat in a chair, greedily drinking from a pitcher of water. She was thinner than any dwarven female Kowler had seen so far. And she was sweating. Panting too; smelling heavily of-.

Blinking, Kowler took a whiff of the room, and then quickly wished that he'd not done so. He definitely knew what those were.

The smell of sex and shit, the gnoll discovered, to his chagrin. Great. He'd stumbled over a pair of mixed-race lovers likely having a go at some butt stuff. Peering towards the focal of the scent, he eyed a bone-ivory colored object molded into a phallic shape with leather straps hung against the frame of the bed. Grimacing, Kowler then realized that the reason that human had been waddling was because he probably couldn't walk straight.

Though it was impossible to have guessed this, he really should have known. Or at least he should have expected something strange to have occurred.

At least this was among the least offensive sort of strange he could have happened upon. It was mild, all things considered. Strange, but mild.

"You picked a poor time to pop by, I was in the middle of some stress relief." Groused the woman, taking a deep drink of a large hip flask. She hiccupped drunkenly, then hesitated in her actions, eying him scrutinous. "Wait. I don't know you. You my backup?"

"Backup? No, or at least I don't think so. My name is Richard Kowlen, a m-," began the gnoll, only to be frustratingly cut off when she removed her mouth from her pitcher.

"-Never heard of you." She scowled, taking an angry drink. Even with the smell in the room, he could home in on her breath. She was drunk.

Kowler took a deep breath and forced himself calm. "I doubt you would have." Very few knew the name, after all. That was soon to change.

During the early parts of their traveling together, just before they'd made their first pitstop in Thelsamar, Talvash had made a demand on Kowler: that he needed a name for his human form. Gnolls could go without needing second names, as was part of their culture, but humans always had a first and last name, sometimes middle names too. It would be suspicious not to have one; oftentimes that'd mean a person had something to hide, and nosy sorts were all over. It was easier, he said, to remember a new name, as opposed to thinking up a backstory as to why there was no second name.

So, Kowler spitballed a few ideas with his gnome companion, and eventually they came up with Richard Kowlen. Kowlen, for his gnoll name, and Richard for his previous life; an echo of what he once was. His name had been Richard once, nicknamed Rick by friends and family, and he'd chosen it for the sole reason that no matter how high a tree he climbed, his roots would remain unforgotten.

It was poetic, in its own way.

"Well, you're here now, so I suppose it don't matter. We're all stuck in this shithole. Emilia Battleborn's the name, newly promoted head prospector of this dig. The forewoman, you could say. How'd you even get here?"

Nodding, Kowler dug through his ratty little bag and withdrew a stamped parchment. "I was surveyed by the Explorers League and deemed acceptable by Talvash del Kissel, an enchanter and officer of-"

"I know who Talvash is," the dwarf grimaced, snatching the scroll. She began to read. "Annoying sort; likes to make a mountain outa molehills when it comes to his craft and research. Fucker tried to cut a lock of my hair once; it's part of why I keep it short now. That man that just left? He's wearing an amulet made by Talvash; cost him some good gold for it."

"We've got more in common than I'd have expected," Kowler sighed, rolling his eyes. He lifted his own amulet out from beneath his robe, its obsidian indentation glowing a purple hue ever-so-slightly, and then returned it to its safe quarters. "On both the gold and the samples. Wouldn't trade it to me unless I jerked one into a bottle. He wanted to know about my eyes."

Much as he liked Talvash, Kowler could not find that he enjoyed the gnome's obsession with samples.

The prospector snorted. "Figures. Well, I suppose your eyes are pretty enough; they look near enough like a cats. Damn Talvash, one weird trait and he goes nuts-..."

Then, all of a sudden, she stilled, as if only now realizing something. Her eyes, which had been sullen and sunken, bolted wide open, her pupils dilating with surprise. Her entire countenance shifted, from grouchy and aggravated to hopeful and wanting. "Wait, you're with the League?"

"Er…" Kowler actually didn't know. He did his duty and settled the Mosshide gnolls and then delivered wares to Shilah Slabchisel. Was he considered a member of the Explorers League now? He hoped so. "…Yes?"

Shooting to her feet, she grabbed Kowler by the arm, her tone near begging. "Realy? Truly? You aren't just some up jumped merc or adventurer that had been hanging around these parts?"

"No," Kowler said, sounding as confused as he looked. "I flew directly from Menethil Harbor towards- HEY!" But she did not listen, shooting out of the tent with the speed of a lynx. Kowler followed after her, idly noting the handful of warily hopeful dwarves and humans milling around.

She ran straight for Greenbeak, cheering and laughing with a glee Kowler had not expected as she caught sight of him. "Yes!" she cried. She then turned to that group of peoples milling about and shouted to them: "We're saved!"

And they too shouted, tears of joy and roars of triumph echoed. Kowler actually flinched when a trio of identical dwarves ran at him, only to start in shock as they shoved him onto their shoulders and began to throw him up and down like a ragdoll, profusely thanking him all the while.

While he appreciated the thanks he was receiving, Kowler did not appreciate the way that they were thanking him.

With a glower, Kowler willed some water from his canteen into the air and floated it at their crotches, only to then employ his new frost magic to cold it over, causing the trio to groan in shock. Their hands instinctively went to their groins, and, as he wanted, Kowler was no longer being tossed around. Turning towards the trio, he snarled at them. "What the hell is going on here?"

Two of them were still holding their gonads, but the third had enough wits about him to speak. "We got fucked, that's wha'ts goin' on, laddie."

"What are you talking about?"

"Only right that you know, since yer saving our hides. I'm Eric, by the way. Eric the Swift! Those two're Olaf and Baelog; we're brothers. The Stoutskin triplets, we're called!"

He knew what they wanted; he knew that they wanted reciprocation. And though it was polite, Kowler was not in a particularly polite mood at the moment. "How good for you… I repeat. What the hell is going on here?"

Eric's shoulders slumped. "How much ye know about the excavation then?"

"The bare bones." Kowler admitted. "This is the big dig of the League in the Eastern Kingdoms; they're calling it Uldaman. Then the Dark Irons came around and started stealing turf. That's about all I know though."

Eric grunted, massaging his balls with his hands, uncaring of how strange the action looked. "Bare bones is right. laddie. And they ain't calling it Uldaman, it is Uldaman. We only discovered the name; remember that, these folk don't like it when ye spout the wrong tale. Might start a fight or two. Though, in yer case I bet they'd make an exception."

Kowler maintained a raised eyebrow, and flushing, Eric continued his talk. "'kay, so… basically, this whole rig is a big ol' clusterfuck right now. The Shadowforge clan, some Dark Iron offshoot stationed south o' here in a rig called Angor Fortress, had been doing their own diggin'. We'd had some tussles with 'em, but it wasn't nothin' too bad. Most times we were able to push em away, no fuss no muss."

His face contorted, scowling a dark, hateful thing. "Then our ol' foreman, a tough sorta dwarf named Fulmer, started poking his nose all around, east and west and north and south, looking for whatever he could find around the entrance to Uldaman. Can't blame him for it; it's his job. But the Shadowforge… they were only digging north; caught us separated and with our pants down. Putting it simply, they dug right into our own excavation and then let loose; picked us apart like it weren't nothin'. Lotsa good sorts died that day, including Fulmer, and the leader of the Shadowforge, some fucker called Galgann Firehammer, he claimed our excavation for his clan."

He sneered just at that name, spitting a massive loogie onto the dirt. "The piece of shit then graciously allowed us ta play at an excavation up top. But not before he kills off our messenger birds and horses and rams and even ol' Talontail, the gryphon that the old Fulmer rode."

Emphasizing that, he motioned his arm towards where Emilia had gone. She was trying to gather the attention of Greenbeak, who was morosely trying to move what was now identified as a corpse. Crooning in despair, the gryphon extended his wings and made to cover the dead matriarch, uncaring of anybody else for the moment.

Olaf righted himself and sniffled at the scene. "Talontail was a good beastie. She didn't deserve what she got. None of those that died ta that bastard Galgann's greed deserved this. We couldn't even give'm a proper grave; had to burn em and scatter their ashes. And without those birds and mounts, Emilia- she can't get word back, can't do anything, really."

"Why didn't you just leave?" Why stay for such sadness?

Eric sighed. "We can't. There's a riled up earth elemental blocking the northern pass between us and Loch Modan; a big prick that ain't lettin' nobody in or out. It ain't like we don't want to leave, but it already plowed through most of the mercs we hired. Then there's the Horde fortress o' Kargath to the west, then the black dragons and ogres to the east, and then beasties and troggs to the south. We're… we're stuck; we're dying a slow death, laddie. And nobody on the outside even knows about it. We've been doin' our jobs just ta pass the time, waitin' until our supplies run dry."

His eyes turned bright. "But that's why you bein' here's so excitin'. A gryphon! We can finally get word back ta Ironforge, we can finally get our dorry arses outa here. Emilia told it true: ye saved us."

Kowler slowly nodded, understanding their plight properly now. The background lore of the Explorer's League in Uldaman had never really been fleshed out in the game, only stating that Uldaman was of interest to them and that the Dark Irons were their competition. But even then, there were very few npc's to talk to around the zone, and for the life of him, Kowler never knew why.

But this… This explained some things. A slaughter; a massacre. That was what had happened; the Explorer's League had just been killed off, leaving offsite officers in need of adventurers to pick up the pieces.

It was a galling thing to think about, especially when the game was now a reality for Kowler.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, Kowler regarded the dwarves before him without the previous annoyance wrought of their introduction. They were sunburnt red and thin and gaunt, but even then, they were lively and happy. Their thick red bears were tied in different manners, likely being the only real way to tell the difference between them. Eric kept his long and unkempt, Olaf's was braided into a tight plait, and Baelog's was wrapped around his neck like a thick scarf.

"What is the status of the rest of the crew?" Kowler asked. "I came here by recommendation a friend. Bruegal is his name. Part of protection. Bruegal I-"

"Ironknuckle," Baelog murmured, a downcast look in his eye. "He's not dead, but he's near enough. Same with a lot of the crew. They're over in a cave we commandeered, near enough. But… ye won't want ta go in. It's not a pretty sight."

"I'll be the one to decide whether or not I'll go somewhere." Kowler dourly said. "Take me to him."

And so the trio did. Their path winded some forty yards away from Greenbeak and the rest of the crew, leading to a small cave where a buzzard nest lay at its top ridge. Ignoring the birds, the small group entered, and Kowler frowned harshly at the sight before him.

It was a reminiscent of the remnants of a warzone. Tents were strewn along the floors to act as buffers from the dirt, and some thirtyish men were lain overtop the cloth, red and raw all over. Burn wounds the likes of which Kowler had never seen were apparent on all of them, coating their bodies and faces and the whole of their persons; some were even missing limbs. A human woman was looking over them, her face grim and forlorn, and she did not spare her visitors a glance.

Kowler stepped around, surveying what he could, warily keeping an eye on their wounds, until he came across Bruegal. His friend was in horrible shape. Bruegal's left leg had been removed past the knee, leaving only a cauterized stump, and his torso was black with bruises and burn scars. His face had not been spared, for the left side of it was red and irritated and scarred, crossing over his ear, barely allowing his eye free. And by the way his chest was heaving, he had trouble breathing.

It was... it was disheartening for the gnoll to see this. Kowler had thought his friend had been able to avoid this sort of pain after their escape from prison. Bruegal Ironknuckle the npc was meant to be a rare-spawn boss in the Stockades. A foe for low-level adventurers to defeat in hopes of swiping the only loot the dungeon had to offer. In the game, he was meant to die. And yet Bruegal Ironknuckle the living mortal escaped this fate.

And yet, from this alone it looked as if Bruegal was always meant to perish.

A breathy exhale was released, and Kowler's eyes hardened. The gnoll refused to allow such a fate without at least trying to be of aid.

Kowler did not wait. He knelt before his friend and summoned water from his flask. Prior to leaving the Wetlands, whilst waiting for Greenbeak to rest up, he had ventured out from Menethil Harbor to fill his new canteen to the brim with water that Astreamor could claim. It took a bit of doing, but he felt it necessary. The flask was able to hold the equivalent of a small swimming pools worth of water, and Kowler brought it to its brim. Perhaps that was unnecessary, but for this purpose alone it was well worth the effort.

Water coated his friend's face and chest, softly emitting a teal coloring, humming out a pleasant yet eerie sound. It was not a particularly obvious matter, nor was it especially fast acting, but it was fast enough to visibly start to work after minutes of effort. Redness steadily turned pink, bruises started to color properly, and Bruegal's breathing began to even out.

"Yer a healer?" Eric asked, awed.

"A shaman." The woman said, finally taking note of them. "That's elemental magic. Never seen one on our side though."

"Does it really matter?" Kowler bit out, focusing on his work.

"All that matters is that you're helping and not gawking. I've dealt with too much of the latter and too little of the former lately. I'm Anora, an enchanter and alchemist, and for now, a caregiver."

"Richard Kowlen. A shaman, as you've so kindly pointed out. No surname?"

"None you need worry about."

Grunting acknowledgement, Kowler continued his work, ignoring Olaf's grumble of "told her his name but not us." He spent what felt like hours working over his friend but was in fact just thirty minutes. The Stoutskin triplets had left by this point, correctly presuming that he was busy and they were unneeded.

When Bruegal stabilized fully, looking as if he'd need only bedrest and time to recover, Kowler moved on to the next dwarf. His healing of Bruegal was for the friendship they shared. These next acts were of a more calculated sort. He wanted to enter Uldaman as quickly as possible, to loot treasure and have a proper adventure. The faster these sorts were back on their feet, the faster that would occur.

He healed and healed and healed; again and again he did this, until the outside sun had set and he could see only due to his heightened senses by way of his heritage. Even then he continued. Anara left him food, a skewer of coyote breast burnt black, and he barely ate any, so focused on his task was he.

The sun was soon to rise when he finished, and Kowler was both happy and disappointed with his work. Though they had all stabilized and looked to be past the worst of their struggles, none of these soldiers were in combat condition; they were still burned and missing limbs and generally holding pitiful states. But they were not as bad as they were before, and thus Kowler allowed them a modicum of respite.

A caw echoed through the cave, the buzzard from before angry at the loss of an easy meal. Kowler grimaced stubbornly at it, and then slumped, tiredness finally hitting him. He'd not slept at all for the past... thirty hours, give or take a few minutes. A supressed yawn crawled out from his throat, and felt it would soon be futile to fight his bodies need for rest.

His back was propped against the stone wall, and before he knew it, he too fell asleep.

\ v /

/ ^ \

The sounds of gunfire and screams woke him from his slumber.

Instincts of survival quickly came into play. Kowler dove deeper into the cave and hid behind a large rock, palming his axe and staff readily, his buckler shield ready to defend his body at a moment's notice. Minutes passed, and as the sounds began to lessen in volume, he cautiously moved from his position. Pulling his cowl over his head, Kowler slowly crept out from the cave, intent to see what was going on.

The crew was in a panic. Just the night before, they were partying, hollering and joyful and happy; thankful for their soon-to-be freedom. Now they were screaming and crying and shouting in horrified fear and frothing rage. Emilia looked genuinely devastated, knelt onto the ground, screaming at the sun.

And before her, bound in tight ropes, knelt a Dark Iron dwarf, grey skin and red eyes, smugly grinning even through his bloody beaten face. The whole of his body was puffy and bruised, and his beard had been shorn clean, the greatest sign of disrespect that could have been had from a dwarf. And he looked not to have a care in the world.

"Why?!" Emilia cried out, the shrillness of her voice echoing through the area. "Why would you do that?!"

Hacking out a harsh cough, the Dark Iron laughed bracingly, blood spittling from his lip all the while. "Because- I… could!"

With a ferocious roar, Emilia pulled a knife from her side and threw it straight at the dwarf, its blade buried deep into his skull. Then, after he fell limp into his bindings, dead and done, the rest of the crew attacked. They brought swords and hammers and spells down onto the body, and nothing but blood and ash remained after just a few minutes. Emilia looked on at this event, and when the crew had tired themselves, she buried her hands into her face and cried a river of tears.

Cautiously, certainly cautious after seeing such a brutal display of rage, Kowler approached, hover his hand over the upper part of her back. "What- what happened?"

Emilia looked up, her eyes red and tear-stricken. "Oh. You. I'm- He…" Her words were but a whisper. "he killed the gryphon."

"WHAT?!" Kowler roared, his hand twisting into a fist that held her clothes taut.

"I know!" She sobbed, her shoulder rolling. She grabbed his leg and held on to it with a vice grip. "He snuck up on us! Feralda was guarding it and that fucker slit her throat and then leveled a gun right onto the gryphons head and shot it dead!"

"...I was gonna head off soon," she shuddered, her voice but a whisper. "Tell the world of our struggles, and now this?! Everything is- it's ruined!"

She cried and cried and cried some more. Virtually the whole excavation was crying, for their hope of survival had been felled before they could fully comprehend what salvation was. They were as fucked as before; more, really.

"We've only enough food for the next week or so," Emilia sniffled. Kowler patted her back as best he could. "I thought we were home free, so I allowed us to gorge ourselves last night. Now… We'll start having to use the gryphons for meat soon enough, and once that's done, we'll have to hunt. Then we'll be the ones getting hunted, and then…" She shuddered, and tears afresh began to flow.

No. Kowler thought, looking towards her, his gaze shifting towards everybody else. Not like this.

He knew he could survive. His magic and natural form made such a thing easy; buzzards were pests and the Redridge pack liked to tame coyote's as pets. It would be tricky to deal with cheetah's and ogres and troggs, but his powers allowed him much reprieve. Survival was of no issue for Kowler.

However he'd just finished healing their weak. Freely. He'd spent near the entirety of his time at this camp tirelessly working towards bettering their future, giving them a fighting chance, so that he in turn would have a better chance of access to their excavation, and now his work had been dashed because of some prick with a grudge decided to play big game hunter?

I refuse to leave this place so- so... The words escaped him. He couldn't think on just what he wanted, but he knew what he did not want, and what he did not want was for this to have been a waste. Kowler came here for an adventure, and an adventure he would have.

Grunting, Kowler removed the prospector from his person and returned to the cave to gather whatever armor he could from what remained of those injured soldiers. A breastplate of thick leather, gauntlets of hard iron, shin guards of solid steel, and a spiked shoulder guard of some sort of bronze material. He looked through their weapons, swords and spears and maces and such, but found his current ensemble to be good enough.

It felt as if his scowl refused to leave his face as he left, not heading towards the crew to the west, but to the northern pass.

A companion had silently followed him, and chose to speak up only as he left the campsite. "You do all that work, and then this?"

Kowler turned to her, staring Amara down. He'd never really gotten a good look at her, and were this situation not so dire, he would have likely enjoyed her appearance. Short and thin with a heart-shaped face, she was not an intimidating woman. Her brown eyes were big, and her white-blonde hair was shucked haphazardly into her hat, and her clothes were loose and large. And yet, she was still a pretty woman.

Yet in this circumstance, he couldn't find it in him to give a care about her good looks. "And what do you think this is? Hm?"

"You're a nobody," she declared, twirling a wand in her right hand. It glowed a harsh red, sparks shooting from its tip. "You're not a part of this dig and you're a shaman besides. We're screwed, but you? You can just let that elemental let you through, I bet. The moment things go bad you start heading away. You're abandoning us."

Snarling, Kowler approached her, and she did not move. They stared at one another, faces less than a foot a part, and genuine anger was held in their eyes. Brown met gold, and lightning could have shuddered between their glares.

But then he did something even she could not have expected. "You're right." Kowler whispered.

Amara's wand shot up, digging into his jugular. He could feel the heat it was giving off. "You intend to abandon us then? Why?! You heal our men and then steal their armor remains as- as a job well done or something?!"

"No."

"Then what-"

"You're right," Kowler repeated. He took a short step forward, allowing the wand to dig deeper into his flesh. "But not about what you think."

"And what am I right about?" Scowled the enchantress.

Kowler took a deep breath, frost borne from his own mana coating the exhale, misting into her face. "I am a shaman. And shamans are meant to keep the balance of the elements. Where, do you think, an element that needs balancing may be? Hm?" Her eyes widened, and it seemed to dawn on her what his intention was. Her wrist went limp and her wand fell from her grip onto the ground.

With a growl he turned away from her, and she did nothing. He could hear her shuffle and pick up her wand, and for a moment she stared after his retreating form, only to turn around and jog back to camp.

When he next turned around, it was to ensure that nobody was there to see. His only audience came from a wary ridge stalker hiding in the shadows and an overhead bird circling his form. With a careful movement, Kowler unfastened his gear, allowing it to hang loosely from his body. Then, gently, for even in his anger he refused to treat this poorly, Kowler removed his amulet.

His flesh once more gave way to fur, and his muscles tightened around the gear he wore, leaving only scant bits of room. Tightening them once more, Kowler positioned his axe and staff and shield onto his back and then went on all fours, racing through the past as fast as he could.

Gnolls were not particularly quick when compared to most predators in the wild. And yet, they still eclipsed most mortals when on all fours. His armor was heavier and made running a chore, but still, Kowler's momentum was far faster than it had been just a moment ago.

Hours he raced, only to stop to catch his breath and methodically coat his muscles in Astreamor's waters, soothing their exhaustion. When they felt refreshed, he would continue the run.

Finally, Kowler came across his target. Eric had not described the thing beyond it being big and riled, and Kowler wished the dwarf would have done more. It was a gargantuan creature, a giant of the earth; wrought of stone where flesh would have sufficed, pounding hatefully onto a fire scorched pave. Its very form mimicked that of mortals, had mortals been the size of towers; vaguely beastlike markings were rattled over its front. Deep emeralds sourced from where eye sockets might have been, and rivulets of vegetation grew over its shoulders and body as if to convey clothing. It was vaguely humanoid, and yet it was alien all the same.

Kowler approached, wielding only his staff, and forced the connection towards the water elemental out as powerfully as he could. Water rippled around him, comforting and ready for combat.

The colossus saw this, recognized Astreamor's power as its liquid cousin, and halted its assault on the dirt. Green emeralds narrowed as Kowler continued closer, and its voice shook the canyon pass. "A SHAMAN?"

Kowler sucked in his breath and too spoke loudly. "Great spirit of the earth! I ask that you tell me what troubles you, so that I might be of aid! So that you might leave this place in peace once more!"

If elementals could scoff, this one would have done just that. "YOU CAN DO NOTHING, LITTLE SHAMAN. LEAVE ANATHEMUS WITH HIS RAGE."

"A shaman is meant to be of aid to the elements of Azeroth, Anathemus! If I cannot even try, I cannot be claiming such a title! Tell me what troubles you so!"

The grinding of stone on metal, the rumble of heavy stones falling, those were the sounds that encompassed all that was the movements of the colossus. Anathemus' massive form knelt slowly with his arm extended to pick Kowler up, and then stood once the gnoll was in his grasp, forcing the gnoll eye level with the great elemental spirit. From up here, Kowler could make out what felt like the whole of the Badlands. Past Anathemus, he could even see the shores of Loch Modan.

"ANATHEMUS HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM. FROM THE FIRELANDS, INFERNUS CAME, AND TOOK ANATHEMUS' RING. ANATHEMUS WANTS HIS RING BACK."

"Why then have you not gone after him?" Kowler inquired. That this was a temper tantrum was not surprising at all to the gnoll. The elements were known for their power and austerity and longevity; not their maturity.

The hand holding him turned into a fist, and the grip squeezed him tightly. His armor groaned at the motion, and Astreamor frantically tried to fight against the giant, to no avail. "ANATHEMUS CANNOT GO. ANATHEMUS IS THIS CANYON; HE CANNOT LEAVE HIS CANYON ANY MORE."

Kowler understood then. All elementals had their pro's and cons, and earth was no exception. They were the most physically powerful elementals of the four, but similarly they were physically bound to their origins; only able to move by way of assistant through shamans or by returning their spirits to the vast recesses of Deepholm. They were their source, and thus, only the most powerful could move in any format.

Wait. What did he say? Any more?

"Why does this ring matter so much to you, Anathemus?"

"THE RING IS A GIFT." He rumbled. "BORNE FROM THE STONEMOTHER'S BODY. THE RING LETS ANATHEMUS WALK ALL HER LANDS; FAR FROM HIS CANYON. ANATHEMUS WANTS HIS RING BACK!"

That was… that was something. Therazane the Stonemother was the crust of Azeroth itself; thus making all other earth elementals subservient to her by way of existence. For her to have given Anathemus free reign to walk the land showed both his age and her fondness for him. "How could this Infernus even take it, though?"

Anathemus shuddered in anger, squeezing Kowler even tighter. It was getting difficult to breathe. "THE THIEF CAME WHEN ANATHEMUS' RESTED, AND HAD ITS DWARF SERVANTS TAKE IT."

"And you-" Kowler gasped, his breath short from the tightness. "Do you know where it is?"

"SOUTH." Anathemus' throat groaned. "IT IS NEAR. HIDDEN IN A BUILDING OF CARVED STONE, BUILT INTO THE CLIFF OF DUNESHEER, KNOWN TO MORTALS AS THE FORTRESS OF ANGOR."

"Then I will take it from Infernus!" Kowler announced, breathing deeply when Anathemus loosened a grip. Kowler rallied his words, even as Astreamor's waters coated him soothingly. "I will go to Angor Fortress and I will take your ring back! I will banish Infernus to the Firelands from whence he came, and l will kill the Dark Iron dwarves that did his bidding! I will fix this, Anathemus! Allow me to fix this!"

The great elemental was quiet, silent as stone, for he was stone. Then, with a heave of sound, a thunderous noise forming from his neck, he laughed. "HAH! HAH! HAH! HAH! THEN GO! FIND HIS RING! BRING IT TO HIM! ANATHEMUS SHALL WAIT, LITTLE SHAMAN! HE BLESSES YOU WITH THE STRENGTH TO DO THIS TASK!"

The moment those words passed Kowler could physically feel it. The blessing that Anathemus had just put onto his shoulders. It rolled over him, the sturdiness of the earth, the assuredness of its power, and he felt stronger than ever before. Curious, Kowler jumped with a smidgen of strength, and marveled at the height he gained. That was three feet from Anathemus' hand, and yet he pushed off with but a sliver of strength.

Anathemus then knelt down and placed Kowler back onto the ground, and then repositioned himself sitting still, keeping a hard watch to the shaman he just spoke to. "ANATHEMUS WILL KNOW IF YOU DIE. AND ANATHEMUS WILL KNOW IF YOU RUN."

"I don't intend to do either." Kowler said, stretching. He placed his staff onto his back once more and again positioned himself onto all fours, twisting his body so that he was faced south once more, towards Angor Fortress. "I intend to win."

"LET THE INFERNUS THE THIEF KNOW ITS FOLLY!" Came the giants command.

And Kowler was more than happy to do so.

So… This happened. This is the introduction to the Excavation arc, and I actually didn't expect it to turn out this way. I've got a general plan for the important events that are going to occur, but I hadn't actually put much thought into why the Explorer's League was such a minor presence during Classic. And, well, I started thinking about it, and came up with this.

The crew went through some major issues. The Dark Irons did a number on them, and Kowler arrived only to find near ruin. And yet, even though he brought them salvation, that was stolen before it could even be realized.

He now has only one option to save this excavation team. To act the shaman he claims to be and mediate the struggles of the elemental that is making it so they can't leave.

Hopefully Kowler will do his job and do it well.

Oh. And for those of you that might ask about what Anathemus just did; it was essentially a buff. It's not permanent by any stretch, but it is handy to have. Especially if Kowler wants to deliver the ring; for it to fit on Anathemus' finger, it'd probably weigh more than a ton.

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